


Trading Spaces

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-27
Updated: 2006-02-26
Packaged: 2018-08-15 23:38:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8077900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: Temporal radiation leaves Malcolm trapped in the body of an alien...two thousand years ago. (03/12/2004)





	1. CHAPTER 1--A Stranger

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

CHAPTER 1--A Stranger 

"Oh, gods, your humble servant implores you, remove me from this place of demons and send me back to the green hills of my home," he moaned. "Please, please, please, I beg of you. Anari Moon, Rafiziel Ravenswing, please hear me. I beseech you to remember me and rescue me... Tobin Northwind of Sief Talber, please..." 

The gods, if indeed they heard his prayers, did not heed them, and so Tobin kept up his monologue and shivered against the cold metal wall of the demons' home. Strange demons, these, not a bit like the engravings in the Sadhraf. They could almost be idun'yll. He moaned again as he looked at his own hand, five (oh, gods, five) pink fingers wrapped around his makeshift club. 

"Please, please, please," he whispered under his breath. The air here was dry and his throat scratched. His own mellifluous language jangled and clashed in his mouth so that nothing sounded as it should. This body was wrong, so very wrong... His limbs trembled and threatened to collapse. They wanted him weak, all the better to take over his senses with demonic insanity. 

The tallest demon spoke to him, and Tobin wailed aloud in fear. He did not understand their words at all and yet something had happened to turn him into one of them! It came closer, and despite his alarm Tobin noted with satisfaction that the demon seemed wary of him. 

"So the power of an acolyte of great Albion Doveheart bears some strength in your world!" he cried, and when the demon came in range he darted forward and dealt a heavy blow across its forehead. It fell with a grunt; Tobin shouted and leapt over it, swinging his club wildly at the other demons. He backed towards the door; a smaller one cried out in the demon language and pointed at him. 

"Gods, give me the strength to escape the inner reaches of the demon stronghold," he murmured, and turned around as the doors swished open. No idun'yll hand helped them move, and he made the god-sign over his left eye, stopping dead in fear. 

The hiss of cold metal against his neck served as a potent reminder of the other demons in the room. "Never turn your back on an enemy," he whispered as the chill poison swept through his veins. "I have failed you, gods... forgive your servant..." 

Darkness slipped about his eyes, and his knees buckled beneath him. He felt hands about his body, lifting him, and barely had the presence of mind to strike out, slowly and weakly, before oblivion won. 

"Tell me again, Hoshi," said Archer quietly, rubbing his temples, "exactly what happened down on the surface." He winced as his fingers brushed over the growing bruise. 

"I told you all I know, Jon," said Hoshi apologetically. 

He waved his fingers at her. "Humor me," he said, and winced again as a lance of pain shot through his mind. 

"Like I said before," she continued, and Archer caught a hint of exasperation in her voice, "we went into the caves because they looked unnatural, made instead of naturally formed. We found a sort of temple, pictures and mosaics and everything all over the walls and floors. I had the recorder and was taking pictures of everything. It stopped working and Trip came over to help me. Malcolm saw something up ahead and went to look at it alone." 

"And then you heard him yell and found him unconscious," said Archer. 

"Twitching all over and struggling to breathe," said Hoshi, and buried her face in her hands. "And then he just stopped, everything just stopped 

"Are you sure, absolutely sure, that's everything?" asked Archer. Hoshi did not answer him. 

"Yes, Jon, that's it!" said Trip as he followed Phlox out of the adjoining room, carrying an armload of restraints. Phlox took the straps from Tucker's hands and began to affix them over Malcolm's prone form. "She's gone over it four times, there's nothin' else, I tell ya! I was there, too, and that's all that happened." He glared at his friend and put a protective arm around Hoshi's shoulder. The straps clinked as Doctor Phlox snapped them into place. 

The captain closed his eyes. He didn't want to watch as the doctor tied Malcolm Reed to the biobed as if the lieutenant were some kind of criminal. 

"It's for his own protection," said the doctor quietly. 

He opened his eyes again and glanced at Malcolm, pale and wan on the sickbay bed. "Damn it!" snapped Archer. Trip and Hoshi both looked up, startled. "Sorry," apologized the captain. "I hate seeing a member of my crew like this." 

"He didn't know us at all," said Hoshi. She wiped her eyes and sniffled. "He didn't know where he was or anything." 

"His physical symptoms appear as if a rather large electric shock went through his body," said Phlox bluntly. "It is quite possible that the brain and nervous systems could suffer adverse reactions, even memory loss." 

"He seemed like he was tryin' to talk, Doc," said Trip. 

"I expect that his frontal lobe has been damaged," said the doctor. "He would have difficulty formulating a correct sentence if that were so. I will do more detailed scans and see if I can turn up anything that could help him." He glanced back at the patient. "In all reality, there may be nothing I can do," he added grimly. "The human brain is a delicate organ." 

The three humans sighed, and Hoshi wiped away another tear. 

"Trip, I want you and T'Pol to go down to the planet again and examine that cave as thoroughly as possible. Leave no stone unturned," ordered the captain. "Maybe we can find out what did this to him. That would help, wouldn't it, Doctor? Hoshi, study the photos you took on the surface. Maybe we can find a clue there." 

The two officers nodded and left, casting a last glance over their shoulders at Malcolm's unconscious figure. 

The captain met the doctor's eyes and sighed. 

"I want you to do everything you can to help Malcolm, Doctor Phlox," said the captain firmly. "Let me know if anything comes up." 

And he too exited, leaving the doctor alone with the lieutenant. 

"What if I cannot do anything?" asked the doctor of his silent patient. "What then?" He got no answer. 

But, of course, he hadn't really expected one.


	2. CHAPTER 2--A Mysterious Book

CHAPTER 2--A Mysterious Book 

"This is it." 

"Why did Mr. Reed come in here?" 

"How the heck would I know?" 

"Ensign, I am merely trying to ascertain the situation. There is no need to snap at me." 

Hoshi sighed and swept her flashlight over the dark corners of the caves. "I really don't know, T'Pol. Right here is where Trip and I stopped to fix the recorder." 

"The room the Lieutenant entered is there, then?" asked T'Pol. Hoshi looked where she was pointing and nodded. "Any answers will most likely be found in that chamber," T'Pol said, and picked her way through the rubble to the door of the mysterious room. "Did you examine the room when you were here earlier?" 

"We were a little preoccupied," answered Hoshi, peeking over T'Pol's shoulders. The room, slightly smaller than the bridge on Enterprise, gleamed in the glow of the flashlights. Exquisite, complicated crystal patterns ran the length of the walls, coming together to merge behind a narrow hexagonal platform with a graceful crystal spire protruding from the top. Malcolm's scanner, burned and blackened, lay forlornly on the floor in front of the spire. 

"There's even a crystal walkway," Hoshi said, her voice echoing in the stone room. "Look, it leads right up to that altar thing." She pulled out her own scanner and flipped it open. 

She cried out in surprise as a sharp spike of electricity burned through her hands, and dropped the smoking scanner to the floor. "Ow ow ow ow," the ensign cried, waving her hands in the air until the pain disippated. 

T'Pol, on the verge of activating her scanner as well, thought better of it and retreated back to the doorway. "Are you all right, Ensign?" she asked, gingerly touching the walls. 

"It shocked me!" Hoshi snapped at her. "It's never done that before!" 

The Vulcan ignored her rude tone and stepped a few paces away from the door before pulling out the scanner once more. "There seems to be an electric charge present in the crystal patterns. When you stood on the walkway it interfered with the scanner and sent a current through your hands." Hoshi glanced at the third scanner, Malcolm's, laying beneath the altar. "He must have tried to scan that and got electrocuted." 

T'Pol did not answer; she glanced at the scanner and then back at the room again. Hoshi thought the Vulcan looked almost perplexed. "Subcommander? What's wrong?" 

"There is a strange radiation emanating from the crystal. It is strongest around the spire on the altar," T'Pol said. "I suspect that it may also have something to do with Lieutenant Reed's condition. I am sure the doctor would know how to treat a simple case of electrocution." 

Hoshi raised an eyebrow that nearly matched T'Pol's own for height. "'Simple electrocution?'" 

The Vulcan ignored her. "Stand out here, Ensign, and try to record the symbols on the walls. Perhaps they can be translated to tell us what this place is." 

"Where are you going?" asked Hoshi as T'Pol stepped back away from the room. 

"I will scan the rest of this place," the Vulcan answered. "There may be something there that will help us." She walked away from Hoshi until all that could be seen of her was the bobbing beam of the flashlight. The ensign sighed and began to take down the symbols on the wall. It didn't take long, and she called out for T'Pol when she had finished. 

"Follow the sound of my voice," answered the Vulcan. Hoshi, with her keen hearing, easily detected the real sound among the soft echoes and followed it down a long spiraling passage. 

As T'Pol's light came into view, Hoshi neglected to watch her feet and tripped head over heels on a treacherous rock. To her surprise the rock cracked apart, revealing a grimy leatherbound book inside. 

"You should be more careful," said T'Pol, coming up the passage behind her. Hoshi picked up the book, taking care only to handle it lightly, and dusted off the cover. More of the alien symbols decorated the brown cover; she opened the book and found, to her great surprise, what looked to be neat cursive in the English alphabet. The words were faded and nearly indecipherable; Hoshi could make only out a few random things like 'trees' and 'language' on the first page. 

"How on earth could something like this have gotten here?" she said, aghast. T'Pol poked at the 'rock,' which on closer inspection turned out to be a grimy metal box, so caked with the dirt of age that it had turned the same dust brown as the walls. 

"Perhaps this culture was very advanced and brought it here," said T'Pol. "It is possible they visited Earth in diguise." 

"Let's go back up to the ship," Hoshi replied, replacing the book in its box and hefting the entire thing onto her shoulders. "I interned as a translator in an archive once; you can sometimes use ultraviolet light or particle scans to detect ink residue." 

"Perhaps this book will reveal something of this planet's culture," said T'Pol. 

Hoshi shook her head at the improbability of it all, and replied, "That's what I'm hoping."


	3. CHAPTER 3--Tangled Web

CHAPTER 3--Tangled Web 

"Mr. Reed, can you understand me?" asked the doctor for the fifth time that day, staring his patient in the eyes. Blue-gray met sky-blue without a hint of recognition, and Phlox sighed. He could not figure it out, this strange condition of the lieutenant's. According to T'Pol and Hoshi, who had returned from the surface a little while ago, Reed had been exposed to a mysterious radiation combined with a powerful electric current. 

"Not a word?" He switched to Denobulan and even threw in a Vulcan phrase or two that he'd picked up on his travels. ">" 

Nothing. The lieutenant looked away, clenching his fists and closing his eyes. He muttered under his breath in a garbled mess of syllables, as if just getting the words out were difficult. Phlox strained to understand anything, anything at all. 

He swept the diagnostic sensors over Reed's body once more, noting the irregular impulses in the man's brain yet again, but still in the dark as to what to do about it. Despite the odd wave patterns Reed should still be able to speak; there was nothing damaged showing in any of the speech areas. His eyes fell on a patch of the cortex with a particularly eccentric wave pattern and he wondered if perhaps the motor skills allowing the lieutenant to speak were damaged. 

"I wonder..." said Phlox. "Stay there, Mr. Reed," he admonished the patient (needlessly, of course, since the man was still in restraints) and went over the comm link on the wall. "Phlox to Ensign Sato." 

A minute passed before she responded with a breathless, "Sato here. Go ahead, Doctor." 

"I believe I have an idea to help Mr. Reed, but I need your assistance. Are you free right now?" 

She called to someone else in the room, then said to Phlox, "I'll be there in a few minutes, okay?" 

"That will be fine," Phlox replied, and switched off the comm link. Reed, from the biobed, watched his every move with anxious eyes and pulled against the restraints angrily. Carefully, Phlox loosened them, just enough to be more comfortable. "It's all right, Lieutenant, no one will hurt you," he said in a soothing, calm voice. "You're among friends here." 

Reed growled and spat at him, and Phlox, ruefully, tightened the straps again, saying only, "I'm sorry, Lieutenant." 

Hoshi turned away from the comm, wondering what the doctor had in mind. "How are we doing, Trip?" 

"I've got it almost all scanned into the computer. We'll be able to read it pretty soon, Hoshi," he replied, moving the ultraviolet lamp back and forth over the ancient pages. "There's quite a bit of writin' here even though most of it's not real legible." 

"T'Pol says that the leather on the outside and the plant fibers in the paper have genetic strains native to this planet. So whoever wrote it, wrote it there," Hoshi said. 

"What does the doc want?" he asked, not even looking up. 

"I don't know, but you've got everything under control, right?" 

"Yeah, go on, Hoshi," Trip said. "I only got a few more pages to go. I'll see if I can start readin' it, too." 

She smiled and slipped lithely through the doors, leaving him alone. He rubbed his eyes, flipped a page, and kept scanning until he came to the end of the writing, about halfway through the book. "Ha! All right, time to see what's up," he told the book. He tapped the display on the computer, and a reconstruction of the original text popped up on the screen, nicely blacked in and easy to read, unlike the source material. 

"I don't know how many days I've been here," he read. "Too many, to be certain. I spent a while recovering from illness and I don't really remember the passage of time. The medicine on this planet is rather primitive. Dr. Phlox could have patched me up in a minute, no doubt." 

Trip stopped, goggled at the sentence, read it again, and started coughing. He read it several more times before he could go on. The next sentence didn't help anything, either. 

"I suppose as a Starfleet officer I should describe my surroundings. It should come in handy since we are explorers, aren't we? Right now, I am in a house that looks something like a medieval cottage. The floors are made of roughly planked wood, something fragrant almost like cedar but not quite. The clothes I wear, the blankets on the bed, and the rugs on the floor are all woven from animal fibers and dyed different, bright colors. If I had not seen the people I would swear I were back in the Middle Ages. 

"They are something like humans, bipedal, but they only have four fingers and four toes, not five. Three long fingers, rather, and a thumb. The ones I have seen are rather homogenous in skin color, sort of a pale green. There are a few dark forest green ones, but I believe they are traders and not local. Most of them have dingy golden hair but there is the occasional blonde and brunette among them. My own body seems to have changed. I'm not sure how to explain this. I know that I was a human at one point, but I am no longer one... I look down, and the hand writing this is not my own. It should be rose pink, not green. It should have five fingers. It should be on Enterprise, around the handle of a phase pistol and not a fletched quill pen." 

Trip stood up, looked at the book on the table, walked around the table quickly, and sat back down, head spinning. "Malcolm, good lord..." he said. "What on earth?" 

"I haven't been able to really learn any of their language yet. Hoshi would have been fluent by now, but I am forced to struggle along at my own pace. I wasn't very good at languages in school and I am little better now. Madelaine, my sister, used to try and tutor me even though she was years behind me, I was so bad. They call me Tobin, and the woman who takes care of me... of Tobin, really, I suppose, since I can't tell them who I really am... her name is Mayla, I think. And there's an older woman named Kodeeya. Spelled phonetically, of course. They provided me with writing materials and seemed rather disappointed when I could not make the symbols of their alphabet, but luckily, they didn't take them away. I've tried talking with them in English but I can't even make the sounds come out right, and Mayla seems frightened when I try. 

"I am frightened myself. There is nothing in any sort of training I've received, not in military school or in Starfleet, to indicate how I should deal with a situation like this. How does one react to wake up and find yourself in a different body? I don't even know how it could have happened. The closest I can come to a reaction is how to behave as a prisoner: your first duty is to escape. I think I must return to the caves; that is the last thing I remember before this happened." 

Trip took a deep breath, realizing that he had stopped taking in oxygen without noticing. He needed to talk to the captain, show him this, talk to someone, because he sure as hell didn't understand what had happened. He wasn't even sure that he believed it. Someone else had better look at this, just to make sure. Tuckers usually didn't go crazy, but then again, no other Tuckers had gone this far into space. 

Tobin clutched at the straps. He could just reach them...nearly, nearly... 

The two demons standing near him glanced his way, and he relaxed, trying to make it look as if he had just been stretching. The female demon spoke to him, but he could not understand her. 

"Let me go, treacherous scum!" he railed, shaking and shivering. She stepped back, a touch of concern in her eyes, and he felt suddenly guilty at causing a woman, even a demon woman, sadness. But his desire to escape did not diminish, and when she turned around again, he reached for the straps once more. 

He almost had them loose enough to escape when she turned around again, and her next words startled him into dropping the straps. 

In perfect idun'yll speech, she said, "Don't worry, Malcolm. We can understand you now. The translator was able to decipher your words, even if you can't make them correctly." Tobin dropped the straps and sank back against the bed. 

"Demons!" he cried, and closed his eyes against the terrible magic, sure that he would never, ever escape this horrible place.


	4. CHAPTER 4--Pecan Pie

CHAPTER 4--Pecan Pie 

"What the hell?!?" 

Archer looked up from the padd in his hand, eyes so wide Trip wondered briefly if they would fall out of his head. "That was pretty much my reaction, sir," he said. "Okay, good, as long as you see that Malcom wrote that too, then I'm not going crazy." 

"Maybe it's mass hysteria, Trip," Archer said. He gulped and skimmed down through the whole length of the text. "There's a good forty pages here, Trip. Wherever Malcolm was when he wrote this, he was there for a while. Did you notice not everything is in English?" 

Trip reached for the padd and looked at the part Archer had highlighted. "Son of a gun," he murmured. "What the hell?" The captain laughed, but it sounded nervous rather than amused. "He really was there a while. Or else someone else wrote in it, too." 

"I bet our old friend Crewman Daniels could give us a clue if it's time travel," said Archer. "You say Hoshi said the book had been there for a long time?" 

"We carbon-dated it," Trip replied. "Lucky the paper was made from plants pretty similiar to Earth's. It's two thousand, three hundred and seventy-six years old. Earth years. You could probably add three months of an Earth year to that, too, but I can't get any more accurate with the stuff we've got on board." 

"I think we should go and visit Malcolm," said the captain, getting up from his chair. Trip nodded, and followed him out onto the bridge and into the turbolift, tipping his head to Ensign Mayweather at the helm as he passed. 

"The doctor called Hoshi up there right before I came up to the bridge," said Trip as the turbolift hissed down past each deck. "She's probably still there. Maybe he figured something out." 

The captain leaned against the wall. He looked a little pale. Trip chalked it up to Archer's own experiences with time travel. He was sure that something was going to happen, something bad, that would end up with Malcolm getting stuck two thousand, three hundred and seventy-six years in the past. And three months. 

Of course that didn't explain why Malcolm thought, according to the book, that he had four fingers and green skin. 

Maybe that electrical shock did more damage than we thought, mused Trip as they got off the turbolift and headed down to Sickbay. Could'a made him go crazy, maybe. 

He snapped rudely out of his thoughts as the doors to Sickbay swooshed open and a loud, terrified shout greeted them. 

"Demon magic!" cried a voice. Trip could not place it for a few seconds; he nearly jumped out of his skin when he realized that it came from the strapped-down Malcolm. But all the inflection, the stuffy, precise accent, all that made it Malcolm's voice was completely gone. The man fought tooth and nail against the restraints, muttering under his breath. 

"Captain!" cried the doctor, putting a hand on the lieutenant's chest to hold him down. "What a fortuitous coincidence!" 

"We came to see Malcom," said the captain, glancing uneasily at the patient. "What are you doing? I thought we couldn't talk to him?" 

"The doctor had an idea. He said all the speech parts of Malcolm's brain actually do work, sir, so it must be something in the muscle coordination parts, so we should be able to understand him if we ran his syntax through the translator and compensated for the muscle defects," said Hoshi, stepping up beside the bed. 

"In laymen's terms, that's it exactly," said Phlox, "although the actual process is somewhat more complicated--" 

"That's good, doc," said Trip, hastily interjecting before the doctor could go on. 

"So he understands every word we're saying?" asked the captain. "Malcolm, can you tell us anything about what happened to you?" 

"Oh, gods, save me from this damnable place," was the only answer. "Albion, your servant implores you, please, please, please..." 

"That's all we seem to be able to get out of him," said Hoshi, shaking her head. "I don't understand it, it's like he's a different person." 

Trip suddenly swore out loud and snatched the padd from Archer's hand, running through the pages until he found the part with the alien symbols on it. "Do you recognize this?" he asked, holding the page in front of Malcolm's eyes. 

He was rewarded by a startled look as the lieutenant glanced quickly back and forth between the padd and Tucker's face. "How did you get this?" he asked, sounding considerably less agitated. "Demons cannot write in the script of the Sadhraf!" Meaning, probably, that we aren't demons, thought Trip. 

"I have my ways," said Trip. "I bet you know just how to write this way..." 

"Of course I do!" he snapped. 

"Of course you do," repeated Trip. "Yes, you would... Tobin." 

Malcolm's eyes widened. "How do you know my name? Who are you?" 

"My name is Trip Tucker," Trip told him. "I bet you're a heap confused right now." He ignored the open mouths and amazed looks on the faces around him. "I bet I'd be too, if I were switched into a body of some alien I'd never seen before." 

"The ritual," said Malcolm. Or Tobin, to be accurate, Trip corrected himself. "I have communed with the gods and they have seen fit to remove me from my place on my world." 

"Yeah," said Trip. "Does that have anything to do with a big shiny crystal in a big shiny cave, maybe?" 

"You have seen the caves of the Sadhraf?" said Tobin, gasping. "How did you get past the guards?" He sounded like a child, almost; Trip doubted he would be an adult at all if he were in his proper body. "I wasn't even allowed to see them until my initiation!" 

"Well, kid," said Trip, "there weren't any guards when we visited them. If you promise to be good I'll take off the straps and tell ya what's going on." Not, he thought, that I'm entirely sure myself. I guess my hunch was right on the money, though." 

"You promise you are not demons?" replied Tobin plaintively. Trip nearly shuddered hearing how young he sounded, speaking from Malcolm's body. 

"I promise we aren't," he said. 

"Then I will abide by your leadership, Master Trip Tucker," said Tobin. "Please take these off me." 

The doctor moved forward and clicked the straps off of the edges of the bed, and Tobin jumped up, grasping the edge of the bed. "I bet you're hungry," said Trip. 

"Have you got any duf'ot'ld?" asked Tobin eagerly. Trip offered him a shoulder, noting that he seemed a little unsteady on his legs, and shook his head. 

"Cook's got a pretty big repertoire, but I don't think he knows how to make that. Maybe we can find some pecan pie, though," he said, leading the man towards the door. He caught the doctor's eye and raised a questioning eyebrow. 

"Go ahead, Mr. Tucker," said Phlox, sounding rather dazed. 

"Pecan pie? That sounds ghastly," said Tobin as they headed toward the door. 

Trip snorted as the doors slid shut on Sickbay. "Oh, kid, you got a lot to learn." 

"Is anyone else completely clueless as to what just happened here?" asked Archer as soon as the doors swung shut. He sat down heavily on the biobed that Malcolm had just vacated. "So now Malcolm's name is what?" 

"Tobin," said Hoshi. 

"Tobin," repeated the captain. "What the hell? I seem to be saying that a lot today." 

"Trip said switched bodies, sir," Hoshi said. "Does that mean that Malcolm is in Tobin's body, wherever that is?" 

"I guess so. Whenever that is. The book's two thousand and some years old." "This is medically impossible," said Phlox, still sounding dazed. "I can't even begin to think how it could have happened." 

"Maybe we should ignore that for a while," said Archer, "and just try to figure out how to fix it. Hoshi, I want you and T'Pol to go over every bit of data you found from that cave. I'll keep reading this." He held up the padd. Hoshi looked disappointed, but she nodded and left Sickbay. 

"I believe I'll go over my scans, too, Captain," said Phlox, and disappeared into the other room, eyes nearly glazed over. Archer caught the words, "...how could this be..." and some muffled Denobulan. He leaned back on the biobed and thumbed back to the beginning, skipping the parts he'd already read when Tucker first showed him the book and its mysterious text. 

"Today Mayla took me out of the house and led me around the gardens. I fear I am rather clumsy in this new body. The legs don't work quite the way I want them to. She walked around and pointed at things and told me their names. Tree is jaku, grass is tut, wall is rand, and there are a lot more that I cannot remember well enough to try spelling them. I wish Hoshi and the Universal Translator were here. Me mucking around at my own pace is terrible. I'll never understand them. 

"I have figured out one thing, though; I am sure that I am on the same planet. I can't grasp how we missed a whole big manor (they seem to be working on a feudal type of system) but I can see the same mountains in the distance, almost the same formations (I think it's just because of the distance), and the one big moon in the sky is the same too. I think if I can get away from them I'll go towards the mountains, because I believe that I remember how to get to where we left the shuttlepod. It's a slim hope, but maybe some members of the crew will still be there, looking for me. I doubt they'll recognize me, because I look so different, but I'll speak English to them and maybe they will be able to understand it. 

"There's another thing I can't understand: how did they manage to genetically alter me this much? And who did it? Unless these people have a lot of technology I haven't seen, they couldn't have done it. I've been thinking about that constantly. I don't know how long I was unconscious after I went into those caves. The first few days I was so weak and tired that I couldn't even get up. Then Mayla and Kodeeya wouldn't let me do anything. It was six days before they even gave me this journal. So I've been here eight days, because I didn't write anything yesterday. I suppose I should try to date it, but I can't figure out how long I was asleep, so I'll just use how many days I've been here. So...day eight. End log, Lieutenant Malcolm Reed of the Starfleet starship Enterprise. Bloody hell." 

"He hasn't figured it out yet," said Archer to the empty air around him. "He doesn't know he's twenty-six thousand years in the past." He skimmed the next part, finding mostly descriptions of plans to get away from the ever watchful Mayla and Kodeeya and then descriptions of the plans' failures. Evidently Malcolm had met his match. 

"Date: thirty-three days on this planet. I keep telling them my name is Malcolm and they don't believe me. Mayla just says, Malcolm? Your name is not Malcolm. I try to ask them about strange people coming from the sky and they say that I am crazy. I can't explain it better than that, because I don't know the words for alien and starship. That's assuming, of course, that they have words like that. 

"What if I am crazy? There's absolutely nothing to prove that I was ever Malcolm Reed beyond my own assurances. And those begin to fail. I can write in a language that seems as natural as breathing to me. But if I'm crazy, then of course I'd be able to understand my own writing because I'd think it were real even if it is only chickenscratch. What if it is just chickenscratch? Maybe I am Tobin Marat, like they keep telling me. Marat, that means north wind, that's what Mayla says. Maybe the wind blew all the real memories out of my head, and I, Malcolm Reed, am only a figment of Tobin Marat's imagination. 

"Bloody hell."


	5. CHAPTER 5--Echoes

CHAPTER 5--Echoes 

Tobin sucked in a deep breath of air, let it out again slowly; the damp tickled his tongue. "This is not right," he said, disappointed, and wiped the rain from his forehead. 

"Well, it's been a long time," said Trip, blinking water away from his eyelashes. "It's a little farfetched to expect that everything's gonna be the same you left it." He stamped his feet and puffed out his cheeks, sending a huff of mist into the air. 

"Are you cold?" asked Ensign Mayweather, running up behind them. He grinned at Tobin, apparently enjoying the rain. 

"You know, for someone raised on a cargo ship, I'd think you'd hardly be used to the weather," retorted Trip. He jammed his blue baseball cap down onto his forehead and tied the hood over it until all that poked out was his nose. "Much less like it." 

"Nah," said Travis. "Healthy appreciation, Commander." 

Tobin chuckled and shook his head, walking away from them. He had thought he knew Sief Talber like the back of his hand. But nothing remained of the forests and fields he had once known; he could see some of the same types of plants, and above him the same sun beat down, but it was not his home. What had happened in two thousand years that caused his people to leave this place? Trip had told him that there was no life at all on the entire planet. 

Three days ago he would never have believed that there was life anywhere except the entire planet. 

He stumbled on a rock, and then realized it was a stone block, grown over in moss and weeds. Carefully he dug into the earth and found the tops of a few more. Walking on, he discovered the outline of an ancient building, and several hollows in the ground that could have once been something from his home. 

They had been gone a long time, then. Long enough for the planet to eradicate nearly every trace of their civilization. Tobin felt moisture at the corner of his eyes, and wondered at it. This body was so different from his own; he missed it, and he missed his family and friends; he missed his beloved Mayla. 

Today I would have married her, he thought, and sank down onto one of the ancient walls. If I had passed the test, I would have been a full priest. I could have taken a wife and been a lowly initiate no longer. Oh, Albion Doveheart, he lamented silently, I could have done without this trial. I am not strong enough to know that in two thousand circles of the sun my people will be gone forever, leaving nothing but the wind and the rain to be their testament. 

He wiped at his eyes, and knew suddenly that this was how humans expressed grief. How open, he thought. There is no way to hide it. 

"Tobin?" said a voice behind him. "You okay?" 

He glanced up, found Trip standing over him and hurriedly wiped his eyes. Oh, what he would give for dry idun'yll eyes, never showing his weakness. 

"I'm coming," said Tobin, sniffling and silently cursing. 

Trip, tactfully, said nothing about it. "We thought that we could take you to your caves. The Sad-whatsit, you know, where the electric room is." 

"Electric?" 

"Never mind. The sparkly room. You know, with the crystals." 

"Oh, yes. Of course. The temples of the Sadhraf." 

"Yep." He put out a hand and helped Tobin up, and they trudged off through the darkening gloom to where Travis stood waiting with the shuttlepod. Again Tobin marveled at the wondrous machines of these humans. Without them it would have taken an entire day to get to the sacred temples. Now all they had to do was fly up (he gripped his seat tightly during the ride, not entirely trusting the machine) and land in only a few minutes. 

He felt his eyes begin to sting once more as he saw the temples. At least here the memory of his people was better preserved, but only a little. He remembered the majesty and splendour as one rode to the golden gate, inlaid with precious stones and gems. The outbuildings, carved with the figures of the gods and their signs. The great statue of the Patrons, and their blessed emissaries, Rafiziel Ravenswing and Albion Doveheart, the most powerful of all, second only to the Patrons themselves. He saw the face of the Raven, half buried, with lichen growing over the ears and nose. Only the left eye, piercing even after more than two millennia of weathering and decay, stared out at him with any familiarity. 

"'My name is Ozymandias, king of kings,'" murmured Travis. "'Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair. /Nothing beside remains. Round the decay /Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare/ The lone and level sands stretch far away.'" 

Tobin shuddered. "What sort of poetry is that?" 

"Shelley," said Travis. He gazed about the ruins of the temple yard, mouth half agape. "I had to learn it when I was a kid for something. Sort of fits, doesn't it?" 

"I don't like it," said Tobin, and they fell silent, looking at the remnants of his world. 

"Come on, you two," called Trip from the doorway. "It's getting dark and we're due back on Enterprise in an hour." He tapped the flashlight warningly against the palm of his hand. 

Inside was worse; Tobin's stomach clenched and he could not seem to stop his limbs from trembling at the sight of the rooms that only three days ago he had thought so beautiful. He had traveled from Sief Talber to undergo his initiation into the Sadhraf Mysteries; only one trial remained: the Room of Truth. In the crystal, it was rumored, one could see the future and the past without the bias of another's reporting. One might see their own true self, revealed in all its beauty and weakness. Sometimes the gods spoke to the most favored ones. 

Perhaps he had been arrogant, Tobin thought, because he had hoped to hear the voice of his most beloved of gods, Albion Doveheart herself, and this was her punishment. 

The crystal in the Room shimmered in the glow of Trip's flashlight. Tobin, still aghast at the age of the other rooms, found it comforting that this looked exactly the same. Trip refused to go past the threshold with anything 'electric,' and so Tobin went in alone, the two humans watching him from the door. 

He expected to feel something, anything, in the room. His shoulders slumped back as he examined the crystal spire and the patterns on the wall, carved right out of the natural rock. 

When he had entered it for the initiation three days ago his skin had begun to crawl as soon as he stepped onto the crystal path. Carefully Tobin retraced his steps. Slow, careful, until he reached the crystal, where the energy vibrated even more... not now, but it had in his own body... then the vision began and he remembered only a haze of faces and voices, what he had thought were demons at the time, and shock, at finding himself completely different than before. 

"It is dead here," said Tobin. "It hardly surprises me that the gods have deserted this place, since there are no worshippers left to honor them." 

"Something's still here," said Trip. "I looked at the scans that T'Pol did. There's some kind of weird radiation in this room that isn't in the Vulcan database. She thinks it's coming from the crystal but we couldn't get a sample without using tools to cut it, and of course that'd give us a shock." 

"Deservedly so," said Tobin, "if you dare to profane a holy place. It is a place of visions. When I walked into it in my proper body I could feel the power in here." 

"Maybe your species is more susceptible to the radiation," said Travis. "They can feel it outright, and humans can't unless something sparks it off like the scanners." 

"So you are saying my entire faith is based on nothing more than radiation giving us seizures?" cried Tobin. He bounded across the room and snatched the flashlight from Trip's grasp before the man could react. Flickers of lightning danced across the room. Tobin gritted his teeth as he felt the energy run through his human body. He was an acolyte of the Dove, though, and he did not give in to pain. 

Malcolm's body refused to cooperate, though, and stumbled towards the doorway on its own accord, flashlight dropping from numbed hands and sparking on the floor. It illuminated in short bursts the terrified faces of Trip and Travis, shouting at him from the door. For an instant his sight dimmed and he saw the head priest of the Sadhraf and his beloved Mayla standing at the door, chanting the spells of vision and truth. He felt a strange presence touch his mind, and saw the face of his strange new body staring at him. 

"Trip," cried Malcolm soundlessly. "Travis." 

"Mayla!" screamed Tobin. 

For a moment they simply gazed at each other, wondering how to right this, how to get the other out of their body, and then the pull grew too strong for either of them to resist. 

"Go away, Trip, you're not real," whispered Malcolm as he faded. "I only imagined you..." He spoke in the language of the humans, but Tobin understood even without the translating machine. 

"Give me my life back!" screamed Tobin. Furious, he struggled at the darkness, finally giving up when Malcolm's eyes faded into pinpoints of nothingness. He opened his own and found Travis shaking him none too gently, bathed in the light 

"What the hell did you do that for?" cried the young man. 

"You're right," spat Tobin weakly. He didn't even bother trying to suppress the pain; he was too weary to do anything but let it wash over him. 

"Right?" 

"There is no god here," said Tobin. "No god could be so cruel as to give my life to another." 

"What?" said Travis. "Commander! I think he's hallucinating!" 

"He does not believe that you were ever real," moaned Tobin. "He believes he is me." 

Thankfully, darkness swept over him, and he could think no more. 

Translated from the Sadhraf script, written by the newly appointed priest of Sief Talber: 

I, Tobin Marat, son of the Goddess, have put the demons of the past behind me. I must think no longer on the strange pink beings who walk the sky. Though I remember nothing of my former life except the ramblings of my own mind, I have resolved to pick up the pieces and continue where I left off. I have lost count of the days of my new life; so many have gone by, months and months and months, that it seems pointless to continue counting when it only serves to remind me of what I have lost. I do not know my friends' faces; I do not remember the first days of the courtship between Mayla and myself. I remember only this strange person whose name I cannot even spell in my own language and I dream of his life rather than my own. 

Perhaps these dreams are a gift from the gods. Perhaps they are what we can become in time. We shall walk among the stars and traverse the realms of the cosmos like the great Patrons themselves. I must reflect on them and learn how I can show my people the way. 

I, Tobin Marat, will touch the very stars themselves, and no one will doubt that I hear the words of the gods.


	6. CHAPTER 6--The Prophet

CHAPTER 6--The Prophet 

Trip sat in the mess hall, his piece of pecan pie untouched in front of him. He poked at it with a fork, then poked the other side, just for symmetry. Somehow it didn't seem as appetizing as usual. He scraped the pecans off the top and piled them up one by one until the tower toppled over. He grunted and started over again. 

"Commander, are you all right?" 

His new tower bit the dust. "Travis! Don't sneak up on a man and his pecan pie!" 

"Commander, have you ever seen the movie American Pie?" asked Travis. 

"Travis, what in tarnation do you want?" He looked at the remains of his piece of pie and sighed, deciding that it was a lost cause. 

The young helmsman snickered for a moment. "You seemed sort of down earlier," he said, breathing deeply and looking as if he were trying very hard not to grin. 

"Well, Travis, how would you expect me to react, knowing my best friend is possessed by an alien from two thousand years in the past who just tried to electrocute himself?" Trip stopped himself when he saw the look on Travis' face. "Sorry, Ensign, I guess I am a little wound up. Want some pie?" 

"Uh, no thanks." The ensign picked up the plate and tossed the remains into the recycler. "I think he thought his gods would save him or something. Take him back to his time." 

"Maybe," said Trip. 

"Why not just let him?" asked Travis. "I mean, he's obviously longing to get back there. Why can't we?" 

"The captain and I talked about that right before we went. I never expected him to try anything like that though. Captain Archer says it's too risky to just try and set it off again. If it somehow switches minds then it's taking too much of a chance that he'll just go somewhere at random." 

"Oh." 

They sat in silence for a moment. "Have you been reading that journal of Malcolm's?" asked Travis. Trip shook his head. "Hoshi showed me some. He's confused. He can't decide if we're real or not. She hasn't translated the part with the alien writing yet, but she thinks he's turning into Tobin, or what he thinks is Tobin." 

"Damn it all. I feel so helpless," Trip said, slamming the table with his fist so hard that Travis jumped. 

"T'Pol said--" Travis swallowed hard. "T'Pol said that if we do manage to get him back he might not know us. He might think he's gone crazy again." 

"Now where the hell does she get off psychoanalyzing us--" began Trip, but the sudden wail of the emergency alert cut him off. Both officers jumped up and ran headlong to the bridge, the ship's decks shaking beneath their feet. 

Archer glanced their way with a worried look when they burst out of the turbolift. Travis, breathless, relieved Crewman Hart at the helm, and Trip joined T'Pol at the science station. 

"What's going on, Captain?" asked Trip. The alarms shut off as suddenly as they'd begun. 

"There's a ship firing on us," said Archer. "Or at least they were. They just stopped all of a sudden." 

"They're hailing us," said Hoshi. Her eyebrows knitted, and she looked up at Archer with an amazed look. 

"What is it?" he asked, tapping his foot impatiently on the deck plating. 

"They're using the same language that Malco- that Tobin uses, only much more clearly and slightly different in structure." 

"Put them through, then," said Archer. Trip knew him well enough to know that he really didn't care about the structure of their language. He simply wanted to talk to them. 

"Captain Archer?" asked the alien. Trip glanced at Archer; the man matched Malcolm's description of Tobin's people exactly. Green skin, four fingers, brownish hair, everything fit. "My name is Gram Utla, Captain Archer, representative of the idun'yll of Lekai, formerly of Triry, the planet we are orbiting at the moment." 

"Yes. How do you know my name?" 

"We know much about you," he replied. "You are Captain Jonathon Archer, and your Vulcan's name is Subcommander T'Pol, and Hoshi Sato and Trip Tucker and Travis Mayweather..." The alien leaned forward into the viewscreen. "I must say, I did not really think you were real. I thought perhaps you were the fantasies of a madman. Yet here you are... sixty-four hundred eleven years, two months, and three days after the prophet Tobin Marat began his great writing, the Entreprisca. In our time, of course. I believe it's different in yours. There's a whole section of his mathematical calculations." 

"The Entreprisca?" said Archer. Trip, himself a little shaken, watched as the captain's face went through about six different color changes. "You mean, we're a book written before we even existed?" 

"Of course," replied the man. "The Northwind's teachings are the very foundation of our society. His knowledge is legendary, and now that his prophecies have been further vindicated he will be even more famous. He predicted the disaster that would force us to leave our planet and the home we would one day find." 

Archer sat down heavily in his chair. Beside Trip, T'Pol raised an elegant eyebrow. Trip swore he could hear the words cultural contamination in his head. 

"That, my good captain, is why we must insist that you turn over Tobin Marat at once," the alien said. "We cannot risk the good prophet going back in time with false prophecies." 

"What?" cried Trip. "He's just a kid! What do you mean, go back with false prophecies? What are you going to do to him?" 

"I don't believe you have any say in this, Mr. Tucker," replied the alien. "We will take him, whether you do it peacefully or not. Now, we know he is in another's body. Hand him over and we will not destroy your ship." 

"That's one of my crewmen you're talking about!" said Archer, jumping up from his chair. "And we want him back, too!" 

"I'm sorry, Captain," said the alien. "But we cannot allow chance to be taken with this. He must be handed over to us. The temporal chamber will close in another few days. Timing is essential. Cooperate or we will blow your ship apart." 

"Hoshi, shut off the comm link," said Archer furiously. She tapped the keys and the screen went blank. "Trip, get Malcolm or Tobin or whoever the hell he is and get down to the surface. Travis, you take another shuttlepod and go down on a slightly different course. In fact, get two people in every pod and create a diversion." 

"What should I do when I'm on the surface?" asked Trip, his heart hammering. He knew the answer, but he wanted to make sure. 

"Get him to that chamber and electrocute him," said Archer bluntly. "We don't have time to make careful preparations. Whatever we do there'll be a prophet so I'm not worried about Tobin getting back." 

"The problem is whether Malcolm gets back," said Trip, sparing Travis a desperate glance as they headed to the turbolift. 

"Take Phlox with you," added Archer as the doors shut. "You might need him." 

"I was quite interested to see this planet," chattered Phlox. "T'Pol and Hoshi told me all about their adventure down in the caves, finding a two thousand year old book written by one of our own crew. Simply marvelous, that, can't believe it actually survived for that long--" 

"Doctor," said Trip wearily, checking the readings on the shuttlepod controls, "please, can you let me concentrate for a moment?" 

"Oh, certainly," replied the doctor. "I won't say another word." 

Trip heard a muffled sigh of relief from Tobin, and would have laughed if the situation wasn't so urgent. Several smaller ships had detached themselves from the larger idun'yll vessel to come swooping after the shuttlepods. So far only one had tailed Trip; he'd managed to lose it in the heavy cloud cover. 

"It's always raining," said Tobin mournfully. "It hardly ever rained before." 

"Your descendants said something about a natural disaster. That might have caused it," replied Trip without thinking, then covered his mouth as he realized his mistake. Phlox peered out the front window. 

"It appears rather like a large meteorite hit somewhere, a few centuries ago. The plant life has been able to regenerate, so it must have been some time ago," said the doctor. Trip swore. 

"Doc! Shut up!" The shuttlepod rocked as he turned around to glare at the Denobulan. Tobin leaned back against the shuttle wall and gave Trip a long, smug stare, one that Malcolm made sometimes and always made Trip want to hit him. 

"Where did it hit, Doctor?" asked Tobin. The doctor by now seemed to have learned his lesson, though, and clamped his mouth shut. Trip sighed and put the shuttle down. They were a few miles away from the temples in a rocky part of the mountains. He would have liked to set down closer, but he could see one of the other pods and a idun'yll ship chasing each other high above the entrance to the temples. It would be easier to sneak in on foot. 

"Come on," said Trip shortly, having lost his patience with both Tobin and Phlox. He handed the doctor a phase pistol and stuck one in his own holster, hoping they wouldn't need them. 

Tobin followed them, breathing hard as they scaled a steep hill. Trip knew perfectly well that the man still felt weak from his earlier bout with the cave, but he was still angry enough about the incident that he was not inclined to be forgiving. "Hurry up, Tobin," he called over his shoulder. Phlox, keeping up much better than Trip would have expected, trotted back down the slope to his patient and helped him up the hill. 

Trip watched them, one eye glancing at the sky. Both the human and the idun'yll shuttles had disappeared, but he didn't want to take any chances. He saw a flicker of movement in the clouds and turned to look at it. Suddenly, down the hill, Phlox cried out, and before Trip could turn around, he felt a phase pistol jammed into his back. 

"Tobin," he said. "What are you doing?" 

He could feel the other man's breath on his cheek. "I will be a prophet to my people," said Tobin, voice low and dangerous. "I will know the faces of the gods. Turn around and start heading back to your machine." 

Trip obeyed, turning slowly, and then when he felt the phase pistol slip a little on his back, he lunged backwards. They fell to the ground and Trip managed to get ahold of his own pistol. Tobin's arms were pinned, one behind him and one in between Trip and his own chest. He growled and struggled fiercely to get the bigger man off of him. 

"Sorry, Malcolm," said Trip, and swung the phase pistol up and into Tobin's head as hard as he could. It didn't knock him out but Tobin stopped struggling just long enough to let Trip grab the other phase pistol and jump away. Shaking his head, Tobin launched himself at the commander, and this time Trip did manage to knock him cold with a punch so hard it hurt his hand. Unconscious, he could see no trace of Tobin twisting Malcolm's features. Trip shuddered. 

"Are you all right?" said Phlox, staggering up the hill. "He took me by surprise, Commander. I do apologize." The doctor's head was bleeding, but he hadn't seemed to have noticed it. 

"Don't worry about it," said Trip, still panting. He saw Phlox glance at Malcolm, and tossed the doctor the other pistol. "I guess we'd better head back to the shuttle and try flying in. He's not gonna be able to walk anywhere soon." 

"Mr. Reed will have quite a headache when we get him back in his proper body," said the doctor, slinging one of Tobin's arms over his shoulder. Trip took the other one and they began a slow descent back to the shuttlepod. 

"Stop right where you are," barked a voice from behind them when they reached the bottom of the hill. A group of idun'yll, all heavily armed, stepped out from behind the shuttle and aimed right for Trip and Phlox. 

"Drop him now," said Gram Utla, walking towards the trio. 

"What are you gonna do to him?" asked Trip. The idun'yll behind him swung its weapon in answer; Trip heard a dull crack somewhere along his shoulder and dropped to his knees, hissing in pain. Utla grabbed Malcolm's collar and jerked him away from the doctor. 

"He's injured," said Phlox. 

"Oh, don't worry," said Utla. "All we need is to wake him up and tell him the prophecies. Our version of the prophecies." He delivered a vicious kick to the body in his hand. "You see, our interpretation of our religion is a little different. And if we can get the prophecy to say that our way is superior..." 

His grin shook Trip down to the very pit of his stomach. "Well, now, then we'll be the ones in power, instead of the wretched Doveheart. Long live the Raven," said Gram Utla, and the others around him took up the cry. "Get them tied up and see that they are well-guarded," he added, pointing to Phlox and Trip. "We'll kill them all three together once we've gotten this one back where he should be. I want them to watch their friend die." 

"Leave him alone!" roared Trip as they picked up Malcolm and dragged him roughly towards their own shuttlepod. His only reply was another sharp blow to the shoulderblade, and he fell to the ground, doubled up in pain. 

"Don't worry, Mr. Tucker," said Utla kindly from above him. "In a few hours you need not worry about him at all. You will all have gone to face our gods. May they be more merciful than your own."


	7. CHAPTER 7--Crystals

CHAPTER 7--Crystals 

"Very soon this will all be renewed," said Utla, strutting back and forth before Trip and Doctor Phlox. "You shall see the sacred temples as they were originally meant to be, in all their glory! Instead of the foul dove we shall see the great outspread wings of Lord Rafiziel, the Raven!" 

Trip shook his head and tried to shift position once more. He couldn't seem to make the throbbing in his shoulder go away, no matter where he moved. No doubt Phlox would have snapped at him not to move it, had they not been gagged and bound back to back. He chewed at the gag, hoping that might taste better if he moved it, too, but no such luck. 

In any other situation, Trip would have been interested to see the technology of the idun'yll ships. Their shuttlecrafts were larger than Enterprise's, and if he wasn't mistaken actually seemed to have a miniature warp drive. But the sight of Malcolm's still form on the floor near him made it impossible to concentrate on anything else (except, unfortunately, the pain in his shoulder). 

The other idun'yll were attaching little blinking machines and twisting wires to Malcolm's head. Trip hissed in pain as Phlox tried to get a better view, inadvertantly jerking the commander's arms. 

"All those years of persecution," said Utla in annoyance. "All those thousands of years since our good prophet Tobin denounced our temples and set the minions of the blasted Dove on us." 

Trip wondered briefly what the chances of finding another planet with ravens and doves on it were. T'Pol could probably tell him. Maybe Malcolm was contaminating their culture, wherever and whenever he was. It was probably the translator malfunctioning, though. What was Malcolm doing at that moment? 

Malcolm suddenly sat bolt upright and gazed around in shock, surprising Trip so much that he choked on the gag and started to cough. "What is going on?" Malcolm cried. Trip's head snapped up and he twisted around to see if Dr. Phlox had heard the English accent as well. 

"Honored Prophet, we are the followers of the great Rafiziel," said Utla, whirling around and bowing deeply. Malcolm, however, ignored him and stared right at Trip and Phlox, mouth slightly agape. 

"I am going insane," he said, quite calmly, and put his hand to his head. Utla blinked and touched a dial on the machines next to Malcolm, and the lieutenant slumped backwards onto the floor. 

"What did you do?" Utla cried, ripping the gag from Phlox's mouth. The doctor coughed and glanced at Malcolm before answering. 

"I believe that they may be switching back," Phlox replied. "Perhaps the effect is not permanent. Or perhaps his earlier encounter with the cave's energy had some effect--" Utla's fist slammed into his nose. Trip felt the impact and heard the thunk. He heard Phlox gasp. 

"Meddling humans!" screamed Utla. "You may have ruined all our plans!" He turned to the waiting technicians with a growl. "Start the procedure now! We have no time to waste!" 

Blue light arced through the wires as the harried technicians leapt to follow his bidding. Malcolm's body jerked and writhed, and his eyes opened once more. Tobin's younger, unaccented voice burst out of his mouth, crying in pain. "What is this trickery?" he screeched. "Demons! Demons! Exeunt, demonica!" 

Utla said, "The great Raven is the god to follow. Remember that," and delivered a sharp kick to Tobin/Malcom's ribs. Tobin gaped at him, his eyes rolling wildly about in their sockets, and fell to the floor again, gasping. 

Trip gave the gag one last, desperate try, and managed to spit it down onto his chin. "Tobin!" he cried. "Tobin, listen to me! Is Malcolm somewhere in there? Can you hear him?" 

Tobin managed to turn and look Trip in the eyes, but he was too far gone to say anything, and as Trip watched, his eyes closed and he slid into unconsciousness once more. "Malcolm!" he shouted, but all he received for his pains was a kick to his injured shoulder. He groaned and fell over onto the floor, pulling Phlox down as well. 

The floor moved, and Phlox whispered, "The ship is taking off. I believe we are returning to the caves, Commander." 

Trip groaned again. "I just hope we get out of this alive," he whispered back. 

Tobin's head spun around and his eyes watered. He doubted this was grief; his body hurt far too badly. He could not seem to control the myriad of thoughts running through his head, all about the Raven and the Dove and the gods of light and darkness. Their followers chanted in his mind, warring between night and day, black feathers and gold feathers, and he screamed without even knowing if it was out loud. 

He mourned the day he had ever decided to become a priest. He was sure he would die in this terrible future, alone and bereft of any companionship but the screaming voices in his head. He called out to Mayla, and his mother Kodeeya, and his friends, and everyone he had ever known who was dead and gone now. What were they doing to him? 

For a moment he saw Mayla, smiling, and reached out to her. But she faded and vanished away. 

A demon spell, some voice in his head said, softly, so that he almost missed it. They are trying to put lies in your mind. Be strong! He recognized the voice, he thought, and reached out for it in the darkness. The screams quieted as he felt the slow, calm strength of the mind who truly belonged in this body. 

Malcolm? 

That was Trip a moment ago, wasn't it? 

They've got him as well, yes, and the doctor. 

Who's they? Those people who called us Honored Prophet? 

Don't you think you're me? Don't you think you are Tobin? 

Not anymore. I have been seeing through my own true eyes. I was back in my body a moment ago, Tobin, and it felt so right that I cannot believe I am you any longer. 

I think the veil between our times is slipping. I almost thought I saw Mayla back there a second ago, but I thought I was imagining it. 

We must get back to the cave. 

Tobin felt himself being lifted up from the ground, and Malcolm's mind-voice dimmed. I think we are going back, my friend. 

They tried to put something in your mind, Tobin. I think they're some kind of dark fanatics, who wish only to control the world the way they want it. 

I know the future already. I don't need them to tell me. 

He was in the cave. Malcolm slipped farther away. The darkness receded a little, and he could indeed feel the presence of the meme in his mind, eating away. Tobin summoned all his strength and pushed it out, forcing it deep into the empty parts that he never used, where it could do no harm. 

That's it, murmured Malcolm. Tobin relaxed, his mind silent. He felt himself being dragged along the floor. Somewhere nearby he could hear Trip's voice, railing at the idun'yll fanatics. 

He felt the electricity of the cave sweep over him and sighed in relief as the curtain opened again. Malcolm passed him by, and he quickly went back to his own body. 

There was pain, as he expected, and his limbs at first refused to work. He struggled, moaning, and a gentle kiss touched his forehead. 

"Tobin, my love, the vision is over," said Mayla sweetly. She held him on the stone floor outside of the crystal cave. Blinking his eyes, he saw the mosaics glittering above him in their full glory, restored to their former loveliness. 

"Oh, my dear, I am back!" he said, joyfully, and leaned back in her arms, smelling the sweet fragrance of tuht'si blossoms. "I have the most wonderful story to tell you, all about the future." His arms were limp, but he could see his hands, properly attired with four digits and green skin. 

"About Enterprise?" she said. "Do you still think your name is Malcolm, silly?" 

"No. But for a while, I was Malcolm," he said slowly. "And he was me..." 

He felt a last smile from the future, a glimmer of soft accent, and then the curtain dropped, and closed completely. 

"Leave him alone!" shouted Trip. Malcolm buzzed with electricity as Utla, standing just outside the door, activated more and more devices that crackled and sparked. The idun'yll shot him a grin, flashing pearly greens instead of pearly whites. 

The scent of burning flesh had begun to fill the room, and Trip felt his hair standing on end. "He'll die!" 

"Can't anyone gag him again?" asked Utla, annoyed. Two of the others rushed forward and tied the gag back into place. Trip struggled as well as he could, but it was difficult since the doctor was weighing him down. 

"Shouldn't it be working by now?" asked one of them, shoving Trip and Phlox back against the wall. 

Utla surveyed the twitching lieutenant, and shook his head. "We wouldn't remember what we were going to do. Time would have changed," he replied. "Damn!" The sparks disappated, and Malcolm went completely still. Both Trip and Phlox heaved a sigh of relief. 

"All that work for nothing!" screamed Utla suddenly, and threw the controller in his hand viciously toward the wall. "Nothing!" 

"What shall we do?" asked the subordinate, his eyes darting back and forth and his hands trembling. Trip could almost smell the anxiety rolling off of the idun'yll. 

"Idiot!" railed Utla. "We have failed!" He ran into the room, shouting "Rafiziel! Forgive us!" 

"Sir! Get out of there! The visions!" 

Utla's eyes bugged out in fury, and he whirled around, ready to bark out a reply, when he froze and stood stock-still. First his arms, then his chest, and then his whole body began to tremble violently. 

"The effects of the radiation!" said Phlox softly. "It must be a hallucinogen to them! That's why they see visions whenever they step inside." 

Trip, frankly, did not care about Utla and radiation, not when Malcolm was still lying prone at Utla's feet. He chewed viciously at the gag, but it was tighter this time and refused to budge. 

"One of them dropped a laser scalpel about five feet away from us," whispered Phlox. "Push against my back. I think we can get to it." He scooted forward just as Trip pushed. "Almost there..." 

"MMMPHH!" cried Trip as the doctor jerked forward and slammed into his injured shoulder. "Sorry," whispered Phlox, and Trip heard a small buzzing and felt the bonds around his wrists loosen. 

"I see the path of my destiny stretching before me like a purple ribbon into the sunset!" cried Utla, his eyes goggling. Trip flexed and the ropes snapped. He tore off the gag and coughed for a moment. 

"Man talks like a damn poetry book," muttered Trip. 

"Hey!" cried one of Utla's assistants. "Hey! They're loose!" 

"Well, at least someone around here talks normal," said Trip, and slammed his fist into the man's face. He forced his way into the chamber, laying about the idun'yll (didn't they know how to fight at all?) and felt the tingle of static electricity on the back of his neck. Phlox shoved the last one out of his way and ran up to Malcolm. 

"We need to get him back to Enterprise at once," he said, voice grim. 

"What about him?" said Trip, motioning to Utla, who was muttering incomprehensibly and trembling. Phlox spared him a cursory glance. 

"He ought to be more or less fine once he's removed from the radiation source," he said. "Pull him out. He's not our concern right now." He looped the unconscious Malcolm's arms about his shoulders and stood up, grunting. 

Trip raised an eyebrow and took Utla's arm. "Come on, Mister Visionary," he said. "Time for a reality check." 

Utla slowly turned to face Trip. "I... feel... I feel... the power..." 

"Yeah, whatever." Trip hauled on his arm, but Utla was apparently much stronger than his assistants; he refused utterly to move, staying in the same place like a granite pillar. "Fine, stay there!" He delivered one last shove to Utla and ran after Phlox, taking one of Malcolm's arms to help the doctor carry the lieutenant. 

They could see very little; the idun'yll had lit the crystal chamber but away from it the only light came from the entrance up ahead. Trip had just glimpsed daylight through the door when a gleaming bolt of lightning shot past them and exploded above the entrance. 

Malcolm's head lifted as Trip and Phlox looked over their shoulders. "What...?" he said groggily. 

"Aw, damn," said Trip, and Phlox echoed the sentiment in Denobulan. 

"Heretics!" cried Utla, standing at the entrance to the crystal cave. "Heretics! You have ruined my chances for power, filthy unbelievers!" His eyes blazed in the darkness, burning red pinpoints of flame. He gazed down at his hands, crackling with electricity. "But the gods have seen fit to make me one of them. Prepare to face my wrath!" 

"Oh, bloody hell," said Malcolm, and sagged back against their shoulders.


	8. CHAPTER 8--Homecoming

CHAPTER 8--Homecoming 

Rock tumbled down from the ceiling, cutting off the light from outside, as another bolt of power burst from Gram Utla. Trip choked in the dust; as the light winked out he glimpsed a flashlight left by one of the idun'yll and leaped for it, leaving Malcolm hanging from Phlox's shoulder. 

A pair of red eyes winked at him in the dark, preternaturally glowing like the proverbial wolf in the bush. "Death to the unbelievers," said Utla, standing over Trip. The man gave off just enough light to illuminate a small part of the cave. The Universal Translators in all three officers' uniforms crackled and sparked. 

"Idufu'f," said Utla, looking towards where Malcolm and Phlox stood. "Ulit hdh raf'fis'eel que o ha leut hei." A soft whoosh of air rushed in to fill the empty space as he disappeared, leaving them alone in the darkness. 

"Uyt due ja'pe petion," said Malcolm, a hint of bitterness in his voice. Trip struggled with the flashlight a moment and then clicked it on. 

"What did he say?" asked Trip, shining it at the pale armoury officer. 

Malcolm glanced at him in surprise. "Oh...English. I... forgot." 

"Just how long were you in Tobin's body?" asked Trip, picking himself up painfully. 

"How they count time? A year and three quarters." He spoke hesitantly, as if the words did not come easily to his lips. Trip, careful of his own injured shoulder, looped Malcolm's arm over his shoulder and helped Phlox get him to the wall, where all three sat down and leaned against it. 

A knot had begun to form in Trip's stomach as he assessed the situation to himself. Trapped, no communicators, no water, no food. Religious zealot with unlimited power at large outside. Electrocuted tactical officer who doesn't remember his own language. Great situation, here. 

"What do you suggest we do?" asked Phlox quietly over the lieutenant's head, apparently having come to the same conclusions. 

"How is he doing?" Trip replied, nodding at Malcolm, slumped in between them. 

"I suspect there's internal damage from the electric current, as well as the outer burns where the machines were attached," said Phlox, softly. Malcolm made no sign of having heard them. 

Great. Make that internally damaged and burned tactical officer. 

"You don't happen to have a communicator?" asked Trip. 

"No." 

"Prophet. Tell Rafiziel I have sent you," said Malcolm suddenly. 

"What?" 

"That's what he said. The glowing one," said Malcolm, lifting his head and gazing blankly. 

"Oh, lovely," said Trip, imitating the British accent, fully and inexplicably annoyed at the whole situation all of a sudden. He wanted to wring Utla's neck, and his hands flexed around the flashlight, imagining just what he would do to Utla if he could. 

"Why don't you see if one of them has a communicator?" asked Malcolm, pointing at the unconscious bodies of the idun'yll technicians. Trip had completely forgotten them, but it didn't matter. Three of them had commicators, but all three simply got static, no matter how loudly Trip swore at them. 

"Don't yell so loudly, Commander," said the doctor. "You may further unsettle the rock." Trip merely growled in response. He hurt all over, and the more he thought about their situation, the less it helped. 

"Trip?" said Malcolm. "There's a tunnel outside, I think, if it's still there." 

"Where?" 

"Down that way. To the dormitories and the living quarters. It goes il'al'la..., er, all the way through." 

Trip shone his flashlight in that direction. "Yeah, you're right. That's the tunnel where Hoshi and T'Pol found your book." 

"My book?" 

"We'll explain on the way, Lieutenant," Phlox told him, as they hoisted him over their shoulders once more and set off into the dark tunnel. 

"Any sign of Trip and Doctor Phlox yet?" asked Archer. 

"No, sir," replied T'Pol, the slightest hint of exasperation in her voice. "I assure you, I will tell you when I do find something." 

"Are we there yet? Are we there yet?" said Travis under his breath, glancing at Hoshi, who smirked. Archer sighed; he probably did sound like a petulant child. All the shuttlepods had returned except one, and it seemed to have disappeared completely. 

The ship rocked sharply without warning. Archer fell out of his chair and tumbled into the railing, gasping as the breath was knocked out of his lungs. "What the hell was that?" he cried, scrambling to right himself. 

"Shots were just fired from the other ship!" cried Lieutenant Kelly, Reed's stand-in. 

"Didn't we disable them the FIRST time they fired at us?" asked Archer. 

"I thought we did, sir," said Kelly. "But they're shooting, all the same... No, wait! It's coming from a person." He gazed at the scope and then back out at the front viewer, mouth open wide. 

"A person?" Archer repeated. 

"There's a man floating around outside their ship," replied the lieutenant, voice full of amazement. His eyes widened, and the ship jolted once more. "Return fire, sir?" 

"Go right ahead," replied Archer, picking himself up from the floor yet again. 

"Hmm," said Kelly. 

"Hmm? What hmm?" 

"Um... I think he's too small of a target, Captain," said Kelly, and scrabbled for a handhold as the floor tumbled beneath them. Something exploded in the wall behind Hoshi, and she gasped and ducked out of the way of the flying sparks. 

"Phase cannons?" 

Kelly, looking grim, punched a few buttons and then shook his head. "He just jumps out of the way," he replied. 

"The hull plating is losing integrity on B and C deck," said T'Pol. 

"Ooo..kay," said Archer. "Any suggestions?" 

No one said a word. 

"Come on, Malcolm," said Trip, nearly dragging the smaller man over the rocks. "I can see light." 

"I know," gasped Malcolm. "I can see it too." And in the light Trip could see how very pale his friend was and how hard he was struggling to keep on his feet. The doctor didn't seem to be too much better; his face was covered in blood and his nose looked rather swollen. Trip himself wanted nothing more than to sit down and sleep for a good couple of hours. Maybe a beer, too. And a painkiller. Definitely a painkiller. 

The entrance to the tunnel was partially covered by a thorny bush, and Trip swore loud and long as he fought his way through it. "Bloody hell," gasped Malcolm as, following Trip, a branch struck him in the face. They stood on the mountainside, blinking in the daylight. Phlox tossed the flashlight aside and helped Malcolm sit down on the grass. 

"Son of a bitch!" exclaimed Tucker suddenly, and both of them looked up at him, startled. "Look! There's the shuttlecraft. First stroke of luck all day!" 

Forgetting his exhaustion, he raced down the hill and found it still untouched. He fired up the engines and whooped, relieved to have finally gotten a break. Malcolm climbed in, half falling through the door as Phlox gave him a heave. He collapsed onto the bench and simply lay there, breathing raspily. 

"Let's go, then," said Trip, and took it up through the atmosphere and around the planet where Enterprise was waiting. 

"Look," said the doctor, sitting down behind Trip. "It's Utla. How is he doing that? Prolonged exposure to the cave's radiation must produce some fascinating effects. See if you can get closer." 

"Doctor, I know it's all in the interest of science," said Trip, "but I don't think that he'll be too happy to see us right now. He's attacking Enterprise." He kept the shuttlepod at a good distance and hailed the ship. 

"Trip, where the hell have you been?" was Archer's response. "Stay away from here! We've got a bit of a situation!" 

Trip was about to respond that, yes, he could see that, when a third ship suddenly zoomed out of nowhere and began to fire on the glowing figure. The ship bore similar markings and design to the idun'yll ship floating dead behind Utla. 

"What the hell?" said Trip. 

Nets snaked out of the attacking ship and bound themselves around Utla. Jets of energy spurted from between the holes in the nets, but they seemed to be holding. A bright blue phaser blast streamed out of the new idun'yll ship and hit the netted Utla dead on. 

"Explosion. Ha," said Malcolm weakly from behind them. "I missed those." 

"I must thank you again for your help, Captain Harul," said Archer. "I stil find it hard to believe that you came to our aid based on a millenia-old message." 

"Ah, but Tobin Marat...and Malcolm Reed...was one of our most famous prophets. He accurately predicted the meteor strike which forced our evacuation four hundred years ago, to the very day," said Harul, grinning. "His time capsule has been the speculation of ages. Our historians were quite excited to open it yesterday. Once we read the message, that the Enterprise was real and a zealot disciple of the old god Rafiziel named Gram Utla was trying to destroy it, we came at once. The dates and times matched up, and there was specific evidence about the galaxy of this time that made it impossible to doubt." 

"Well, thank you again," said Archer. "If there's anything we can do for you, please let us know." 

"Several of our historians would like to interview your Mr. Reed, when he has recuperated. His firsthand knowledge of our ancient ," replied Captain Harul. "How is he, by the way?" 

"Doing better. He's still in sickbay. I'll let you talk to him once he feels up to it," said Archer. 

"That would be most agreeable. I hope to hear from you soon." The viewscreen clicked off, and Harul's face was replaced by the usual display of stars. 

On a whim, Archer left the bridge, leaving Mayweather in command, and headed down to sickbay. On the other side of the long curtains, Malcolm was sitting up in bed, intently studying a pad, with Trip seated in a chair next to him. "I still can hardly believe it was real," said Malcolm. "And it's still difficult to believe that all this is real, too. It was such a different world, such a different--" He broke off as the captain came through the curtains. "Sir!" 

"At ease, Malcolm," said Archer, smiling. "You're still off-duty." 

"I feel fine, sir," protested the lieutenant. 

"Don't let him tell you that, Captain," said Trip. "His definition of 'fine' seems to amount to 'still breathing.' He had trouble walking to the door." 

"Well, I bet that made it easy for Doctor Phlox to catch him," said Archer. "Glad to have you back, Malcolm, difficult patient and all." 

"Er, yes, thank you, sir." 

"So. Just what did you write in this journal of yours?" asked Archer. 

Malcolm looked distinctly uncomfortable. "I thought, sir, that I was delusional, that all my memories of being human and being a member of Enterprise were merely hallucinations. Once I learned to write in their language, I described everything I could remember about the crew and the ship." 

"Well, it certainly saved us out here today," said Archer. "Good thing Tobin knew about Utla's transformation. We couldn't get a weapons lock on him, and he nearly had us dead in the water." 

"Tobin didn't know about Utla's transformation," said Trip. 

"No," said Malcolm slowly. "He didn't. I was back before that happened. I remember seeing him standing in the cave, although everything is a little hazy." 

"How did he know, then? You must be mistaken, Malcolm." 

"No," repeated the lieutenant. "No, I don't think I was." 

"Do you think...?" said Trip, looking up at the captain with wide eyes. "Could he really have had some kind of precognition?" 

"Whatever it was," replied Archer, "he certainly saved our lives today, and for that I am grateful. There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in our philosophy, after all." He grinned and patted Malcolm on the shoulder before leaving. 

"Yes, I suppose so," said Malcolm, looking thoughtful. He lay back against the pillows. 

"I'd better get back to work. Get some sleep," said Trip, smiling, and followed the captain out. Malcolm looked at the text of the journal again and shook his head. 

"More things in heaven and earth..." 

~the end~


End file.
